Dark Alchemist
by Fenrir800
Summary: Plagued by lessons from his past and the conflicts of his present, a young Dunmer alchemist strikes out from Windhelm to pursue greatness. With the aid of a southern city heiress, will they realize their full potential?
1. Alchemical Ambition

Nisil focused on his task, staving off a shiver that threatened to disrupt his meticulous work.

"This damned cold…" he muttered under his breath, which frosted above the small flame in the center of his alchemy table.

Delicately, the dark elf clasped the tongs between his elegant fingers, perfectly suited for this precise task. The concoction he now crafted was one of his favorites, for it required focus and an intimate understanding of its ingredients.

He believed this determination and intelligence would lead him to greatness. By pouring the distilled mixture at this critical moment, he reaffirmed it to himself.

Gingerly, he lifted the round bottom flask from its metal cradle: still red from the flame beneath it. The simmering mixture swirled and roiled with an intoxicating shimmer. He readied the spout above the prepared bottle, mentally thanking himself for thinking ahead.

He checked the bottle one last time, and smiled seeing the powdered moth wings already waiting. Brimming with anticipation, he slowly turned the tongs to complete his masterful project.

He loved this potion because it reminded him of what could be on the horizon.

"Nisil!" a voice roared from the back of the shop.

He inadvertently jumped at the unexpected intrusion with a gasp. Distilled essence of torch bug and hanging moss spilt along the side of the bottle, burning his hand.

"Damn it!" he shouted in pain, dropping the round flask with a shatter and withdrawing his hand rapidly.

On the verge of tears, he leapt back into a shelf, shaking his hand and blotting it on his dark robes. Ingredients cascaded to the floor as Rolff stormed from the back of the shop, enraged.

"What's yer excuse now, Grayskin?" he sneered, eyeing the bits of broken glass.

Nisil knew there was little he could say to quell his anger, so he focused on what he could control, bending over in pain and holding his hand. He tried feebly not to let his eyes shed tears before his demeaning boss.

"I come back here, and first thing, the first _damned_ thing I see is my whole stockroom in shambles! I know I don't have any other apprentice to fuck this all up, so that leaves you my lad, you. Who in the hells told you to…"

Nisil simply ignored him at this point. If Dunmer skin could turn red, his would be molten from the potent mix of frustration, anger, and embarrassment flowing through his veins.

"…Dried Spadetails next to spider eggs? Are you out of yer da…?"

Nisil straightened, plucking a rag from the counter and wrapping his hand loosely. He knew it would heal well enough, he could thank his dark elf heritage for that, he thought, as he picked up a broom and began his usual cleanup process. Finally it brought a ray of positive into his life, he scoffed, as he remarked on all the other fits of Rolff's anger he had coped with over the years.

"Nightshade and Nirn…"

He threw out an obligatory "My apologies Maester Vial-Weaver, it won't happen again," as he had dozen of times before. Nisil, however, knew this would not be the last time, as mishaps like this appeared to follow shortly after any number of Rolff's numerous nights of drinking at Candlehearth Hall. Even worse were his tirades following a sampling of his own homemade brew.

"Snowberries, why would they be next to Sorrowsweet? Do you even thin…"

Nisil smirked; cleaning with his back to Rolff's stammering form. He had thought it peculiar, asinine even, when his Maester unceremoniously roused him upon his return to the shop well after midnight. Stomping on the floorboards above Nisil's cramped, dank basement quarters, Rolff had roared down for him to alphabetize their holdings, laughing as he staggered to his bedroom.

He felt excitement in the pit of his stomach for the lull in the tantrum, when he would simply and politely say…

"But Maester Vial-Weaver, you told me to last night…"

His smirk broadened to a toothy elven grin as he imagined Rolff's face during the long pause that followed.

The same toothy elven grin immediately left his face as a book collided with the back of his head, pitching him forward slightly.

Nisil turned; snarling at Rolff's panting form.

"Don't you ever, ever accuse me of suggesting such a foolish idea, you miserable little wretch," Rolff said.

Nisil was angry beyond measure, and down his hot face dropped steaming tears.

"We take your filthy kind into our city, and even still I took you into my shop. And this, _this_ is how you repay me?" He gestured to his stockroom.

Lost for words, Nisil stood there for the verbal onslaught, lost in the injustice. His knuckles turned white on the broom handle as he fumed.

Rolff was an old man, and his years of alcohol abuse had done him no favors. Like all crusty Nords, Nisil had come to realize, they were so rooted in their ways that they saw none as their equal.

Rolff finished in measured tones, "You will never, ever disrespect me like that again," before walking to the door.

Nisil's hands twisted upon the handle. In the four years he had been subjected to Rolff's cruel and judgmental teachings, never once had things gotten physical.

As he continued to the door, Nisil shifted, hefting the broom handle. For a moment, he was so consumed by the fire within him he considered it.

Easing his hands down to his side, Nisil hung his head. Rolff reached the door and turned, looking at Nisil expectantly.

"Well?"

Nisil nodded, steeling himself. Through gritted teeth, he responded.

"Yes, sir."

Rolff smiled as he departed his shop, so foolishly named 'Rolff's Remedies,' leaving Nisil alone to clean up the mess in his wake.

Nisil sighed, and dropped the broom as he looked about the shop.

Greatness, he thought to himself with a pitiful, exasperated laugh.

Someday.

Kneeling down to pick up the broom, his eyes lit upon the broken round bottom flask, resting on the floor. Pausing a moment, he recognized a single large, concave portion remained intact. A tiny amount of its contents still pooled within. Nisil crawled closer, over broken glass and scattered ingredients, before he gingerly scooped up the shard in both hands.

As he watched its tantalizing swirl, he grew intoxicated by it once more.

Nisil picked up the glass bottle, calming his trembling hands. Undaunted by the sharp edges, be delicately poured the mixture into the vial and quickly secured the stopper.

Greatness, he thought once more, as he gazed longingly into the smoking potion in his hand.

Tonight.


	2. Difficult Road Ahead

Nisil eyed the open expanse before him, exhilarated by the frosty night air for the second time in his life.

With a beaming smile, he stepped out onto the great stone bridge as he had so many nights before, pushing the same heaping wheelbarrow of hay.

"Rolff's got ye out pretty early today don' he?" One of the guards remarked from the comfort of the fire.

"That he does, gentlemen, enjoy the fire for me." Nisil pushed forth as the wooden wheel groaned and bounced over the cobblestone.

It was a long haul to the stable, and he pressed on in earnest, realizing the difficulty of his current task. The load was extra heavy tonight, and he knew he was on the verge of sweating: a fatal error in this cold. No other morning had he ever needed a break however, and taking one now might raise suspicion.

A few moments after feigning pulling a rock from his shoe, he completed his trek and stood before a familiar stall.

"Escanor…" he called.

An aged donkey picked up her head. "There's my sweet girl," he began as he entered and slowly roused her from her beauty sleep.

The two forsaken creatures had spent many cold mornings with one another: harvesting firewood and water for the shop.

"How about we go on one last trek together?" he asked at length.

With a resigned snort, she endearingly flopped back down onto the straw in protest.

* * *

Snow drifts covered the southern road for miles, and so the beleaguered duo pressed on, and downward through switchbacks to the valley below. Numerous times they slid on loose stones underfoot and slick patches of ice which threatened to send them careening down embankments onto the road below. The wind howled viciously as it sought any gap in Nisil's shawl.

Daybreak came at long last, granting some reprieve from the frigid cold grip of the night. After several more hours the terrain levelled and brought them to the start of the Yorgrim River valley.

Nisil led Escanor to the riverbank to drink, and took a moment to unsaddle some of the heavier pouches of glassware and tools. After ensuring she was comfortable and able to steady herself at the water's edge, Nisil leaned against a large boulder, exhausted.

While still chilly, the air was warmer in the valley. Nisil rest his head back, smiling as he soaked in his first southern rays. Birds bathed in the shallows on the opposite bank, occasionally darting to the safety of nearby branches as the dark form of a slaughterfish drew near.

He closed his eyes and thought of the night prior with a smirk. Lazily, his mind began to wander even further still, drifting back to one of his earliest memories.

* * *

He stood at the ships prow, struggling to view land above the salt-worn rail before his father scooped him up, seemingly effortlessly, to place him upon his shoulders. How tall he had felt, looking down upon the Sea of Ghosts churning around the vessel.

He could still remember his first reaction to seeing the City of Kings.

He inhaled sharply, admiring the towering beauty of its walls and the gray water lapping the sides of its docks. He remembered how the cold air had invigorated him, even as a boy. It permeated his little lungs and infused his soul with the refreshing wind of opportunity.

How naïve he was, he had come to realize.

* * *

Nisil jolted awake and sat upright as his eyes darted about. He twisted and saw Escanor had wandered no more than a few paces, yet still scrambled to his feet and chastised himself for his carelessness. He was a fugitive now, and had many more miles to put between himself and his former maester.

At this moment, Rolff was undoubtedly groggily rousing himself from his drunken stupor to find his storeroom looted and many of his tools gone. Smiling, Nisil saddled Escanor and led her to the road. Apparently, he had lived up to Rolff's expectations of his kind after all. The smile slowly faded from his lips.

His father was no thief, despite the many times their people had been accused of such by the Nords. Despite this, Nisil knew his father now looked down on his decisions with pride nevertheless, for he was certainly no murderer.

Escanor's hooves clicked upon the cobble as they set off southward once more and the grin returned to his face. While Rolff would be enraged at the treachery, and his father disappointed by his act of thievery, Nisil took solace in the light load he carried upon his belt.

As his father had once said, 'A blood-stained dagger is one of the heaviest weights of all.'

* * *

"This is the worst decision I've ever made," Nisil spat and panted after having pushed Escanor free from yet another hidden hot spring. Her legs were caked in the slimy mud, and spittle frothed at her wrinkled lips as well.

Deciding not to take the main road eastward around the Eastmarch swamp, Nisil had unwittingly drawn them directly into the same trap that had ensnared many of the massive mammoth skeletons now littering the landscape. He grimaced, thinking of his and Escanor's sun-bleached bones baking in the sun.

This morning, the duo had frozen, yet now they panted and sweated in steam of the hot spring marsh. Twilight was approaching within hours, and they were quickly reaching the end of their finite pool of energy. After all, he thought as he poured their remaining water to cool her, she was an old gal. He would not be able to stand himself if he pushed her past her breaking point in this miserable place.

As he regained his composure and gazed out over the cracked and bubbling landscape before them, his eyes lit upon three figures: all clad in fur and bearing weapons.

He immediately ducked and yanked at Escanor's rope as he bid her lay down. This was no use, he quickly realized, for there was naught nearby but his small shrub to hide behind. It already proved much too small to mask the form of a stubborn donkey.

Peering through the branches, he held still with bated breath.

The trio was headed straight for them.


	3. Isle of Cud

"Hello, traveler!" the first, a Nord, called. He stood tall and proud, yet deftly navigated the cracked and crumbling earth between them.

The woman behind quickly recovered as the ground beside her collapsed. "Whoops, sorry!" She called back to their third companion with a smile, who cursed her name in jest.

"Do you have wares you're selling?" he continued as he finished his approach. Nisil was incredibly suspicious as his heart raced.

The Nord looked over Escanor. "She seems a little worse for wear." His gaze returned to Nisil's crouched form. "Are you both doing alright?" His pause and sincerity reflected genuine concern.

Taken aback by this, Nisil began to feel more embarrassed than in danger and slowly shifted from behind the tiny shrub.

"It appears travelling is not my strong suit," Nisil said at length as he dusted off his robes. "We're headed south to the Rift, and as you can see…" Escanor lay down with difficulty, as if on cue.

"As you can see… we're having some issues."

"Ah," the third said, "ever been through the marsh before?"

Nisil stated the obvious.

The woman smirked and took a drink of her waterskin. The Nord smiled compassionately and nodded, looking them over. Nisil could not help but return the sheepish grin.

"Do you see the saplings, friend?" He kindly pointed for emphasis.

"Look for the saplings with knots in their trunks. They'll lead you through, but make sure you head straight for them, and don't you wander from that path."

Nisil nodded, noting more of the twisted trees in the distance. He felt like a fool for not noting their significance sooner and quickly stammered out a profuse thank you.

Composing himself, he bid them peruse his 'disorganized wares.'

"What do you do?" the woman asked, counting out two Septims for a bowl of salt and garlic.

Refusing her payment with a kind wave of his hand, he responded.

"I'm an apprent…" He stopped short.

"I'm an alchemist."

* * *

Nisil, fatigued beyond measure, turned his back on the Velothi Mountains and set his gaze upon the final sliver of the setting sun.

'Don't tread the swamp in the dark, you must push through it.' The woman's parting words echoed in his mind hauntingly as he surveyed the last mile before him. He could see the tree line and the road beyond, tantalizingly close, but he and Escanor were both so weary. He knew they were unable to traverse anymore of the expanse without enormous difficulty.

Even still, the old shack on the river seemed so inviting. Nestled from view, it beckoned to them as a place of refuge.

Nisil shook his head and stretched, gazing at the one measly mile left on their journey.

"C'mon ol' gal," he said to Escanor, "let us finish this trek through and make camp."

Begrudgingly, after mustering what energy they could to summit a small knoll, they continued their arduous trek southward.

They had taken no more than two dozen paces before Nisil grew somewhat disoriented, as the moons rose and stars grew brighter upon the darkened sky.

The tree line he had believed to be the end of the forsaken swamp simply curved. Following it with his eyes, he came to realize they had just cut across a large sliver of the marsh, rather than directly through it where he believed they would reunite with the road.

Nisil groaned and sat on a small boulder as he cast his eyes skyward. Perhaps navigating through an unfamiliar land had less to do with his intelligence and more with a physical knowledge of the route.

He hung his head and rubbed his eyes, muttering to himself, "the 'Rift is south' has a pretty large degree of error to it, you fool."

Even in his sorrow, he took solace in their compassion. These hunters, Nords nevertheless, had left their easy trail to aid him, and his steps since were emboldened by their selflessness. It gave him hope that others along this lonely road he now travelled would be as warm and inviting, and less cold than the Nordic relations he had always endured in Windhelm.

Down the slope to the banks of the Yorgrim, Nisil rolled his gaze. The old wooden hut sat shrouded in the darkness.

Brushing off the whispers of advice that clouded his decision making, Nisil had to drag Escanor down the embankment. She wobbled as she protested any further movement.

The Yorgrim bubbled lazily at this point just before the rapids in the distance, and Nisil's eyelids grew heavy as he drew nearer the hut. Ever weary, he let Escanor pull the lead from his grasp and proceed to quench her thirst in the cool waters.

Leaves and sand crunched underfoot as Nisil stumbled through the open doorway into the unlit, solitary chamber beyond. Blinking rapidly, he allowed his eyes to adjust only slightly, until he could make out the general interior.

Daring not light a torch to reveal the dank quarters he now found himself in, Nisil settled for being grateful with their accommodations, no matter how meager. He breathed in the earthy warmth and smiled, elated as he focused upon the large bed directly before him.

He strode forth quickly and flopped upon it unceremoniously: burying his face in the thick fur blanket stretched across the lumpy, rounded frame.

He dared not think of the disgusting pile of hard straw that comprised this mounded bed, nor the amount of rain that caused it to stink so terribly.

Sighing once more, Nisil was astounded by the effect the long day's travel was having on him.

He had become so used to walking that he still felt as if he were moving.

He smiled, eyes closed, as he prepared to kick his boots off from his prone position.

Nisil felt the bed seemingly shift underneath him.

He opened his eyes.

The bed _was_ shifting underneath him.

* * *

Escanor wisped her tail at flies trying to land on her. She reached down and grabbed a small shrub in her teeth before chewing it into cud.

She looked up slowly and continued to chew as a high-pitched scream and a garbled string of profanity emanated from the interior of the hut.

As Nisil sprinted out, she slowly turned her head to watch him charge recklessly into the water.

He stumbled, landing face first in knee deep water before crawling deeper and scrambling to his feet.

Escanor wisped a horsefly with her tail and continued to chew lazily, bits of stem hanging from her wrinkled, gray lips.

Nisil sprang forward, pitching himself into the water. Desperately, he swam to the opposite bank, gasping and coughing for breath in his burning lungs.

Escanor slowly turned her head and watched as a massive grizzly bear roared, then charged from the hut in close pursuit.

Nisil wailed, shouting to the Divines as he thrashed as hard and as fast as he could through the water.

The bear charged after him into the shallows. It thundered forth. Waves rolled across the river and water droplets sprayed high into the night air.

Escanor chewed her cud.

Nisil crawled up the muddy bank, slipping and dragging his soaked form in traveler's clothes. His heart skipped a beat, as he saw the remainder of the steep, slick clay bank.

The bear forded the stream, slowly yet powerfully traversing the depth on its hind legs.

Escanor shook a fly off her neck. She paused a moment and the majority of her cud slipped from her slightly gaped maw with a splat.

Nisil lunged at the bank and immediately slipped back down, unable to crawl up the nearly vertical surface. He froze, terrified of what was to come. Briefly coming to grips with his fate, he believed he could feel the bear's breath on his back.

His eyes lit upon salvation.

The bear emerged from the shallows, roaring mere steps behind him.

Escanor watched this unfold as she slowly reached for more flower nestled in the crack of the boulder.

Nisil leapt once more, grasping the root firmly and catching his weight. He flailed against the bank, pulling with all his might as the bear lunged. He hefted himself up just as the bear swiped and narrowly missed him.

Nisil slid back again, unable to find footing higher on the bank.

He fell flat against it, his feet landing atop the bear's shoulders, and frantically dodged the bear's jaws. Mustering all the intestinal fortitude he could, he let go with one hand and reached into his satchel.

The bear roared, swatting Nisil on the hip and sending him swinging. He kicked at the bear as he tried to stand, but it slammed into him once more. As the root ripped free from its purchase on the bank, Nisil was sent tumbling down the embankment.

He rolled into the water beside the behemoth, disoriented but alive.

Before he could even withdraw, it towered above him roaring. Nisil threw his hands up, fists clenched, trying to protect himself as the beast toppled down.

In a last ditch effort, Nisil swung his hand up, shattering the potion into the bear's face.

Glass showered down and Nisil shielded his eyes and mouth. The great bear roared as it rocked back and lumbered off him. Nisil slid back deeper into the muddy water as quickly as he was able.

The bear began to thrash and charged into the water as it rubbed its face. Drunkenly, it emerged on the opposite bank, somewhat placid and groggy.

It staggered, sauntering back towards the cabin. Nisil watched its gait become more uncoordinated and slow, before it slunk back into its lair.

As he sat on the opposite bank, covered in mud, but very much alive, he felt a severe tremble go through his body. Immediately, the gravity of his experience settled in and he began to shake uncontrollably at the mixture of terror and disbelief that coursed through his veins.

He struggled to regain his composure, yet found it within himself to look around for Escanor. After a few frantic moments, he eventually spotted her in the dark.

Delicately, she stood perched upon a large boulder a few paces away.

In the center of the Yorgrim, she chewed her cud and returned his disbelieving stare with a sleepy, disinterested one of her own.


	4. Love Potion No 9

Nisil inhaled sharply in astonishment as tears rimmed his eyes.

As if he had timed the crescendo of his sojourn perfectly, dawn broke as he crested the mountain range dividing the Rift from Eastmarch.

Sunlight raced across the lush valley beyond and sculpted the magnificent land into view. The sea of trees stretched between the stony crags and lined the entire view below: parted only by two massive lakes and the rivers feeding them. Numerous cliffs and ruins dotted the landscape, while acting as beacons for travelers.

Nisil's legs trembled from exertion as he led a wobbling Escanor off the road for a much needed break. He knew they were far west of his intended destination of Riften. Nevertheless, he was sore, tired, and very much grateful to be alive.

After their run in with one of Skyrim's most ferocious, Nisil and his obnoxious yet beloved donkey had crept quietly along the river's edge. They forded in the shallows and took refuge in a small riverside hollow for a few hours' rest.

The nap had served them well. Nisil exhaled, dropping Escanor's lead as they both caught their breath and gazed into the expanse before them. It had taken them since just after midnight to summit the southern mountains, and the combination of dirt and cobble switchbacks had not been easy.

It had been well worth it, Nisil felt, admiring the beauty that stretched before him. Perhaps their misdirection was a welcome one?

He pondered what opportunities the greater lands of the Rift held for him.

He wished his father could have seen the fruitful lands of promise that now stretched before his son.

* * *

Escanor groaned as Nisil pulled her to a stop once more to open her saddle bags. He rifled through the haphazardly stored tools and eventually wrenched free his newly obtained shears.

He quickly kneeled and examined the purple flowers and branching leaves intently.

Escanor clicked her heels on the cobble: exaggerating her neigh.

"Purple Mountain Flower!" Nisil exclaimed, stowing his lens. "Escanor!" he spun, dropping his shears and quickly recovering them.

He strode over and grabbed her face in his hands. "It's fresh Purple Mountain Flower!" Nisil smiled broadly, inhaling the refreshing morning air as he withdrew, arms spread wide in ecstasy.

The remainder of their travel proceeded in this same manner, with Nisil exclaiming and racing over to any unfamiliar bug or plant as Escanor tolerated his joy.

Before long, the duo approached the hamlet of Ivarstead and Nisil now felt as if he were in the realm of stories in the shadow of High Hrothgar. For many years his father had told him of the Red Mountain and the Throat of the World.

Nisil reminisced and looked past the town out onto Lake Geir. Picturesque, its waters teemed with fish and dartwings, and the woods beyond teemed with fragrant herbs.

Nisil's spirits were high as he entered town, and as the recipient of numerous polite greetings he enjoyed this breath of fresh air from the colds of Windhelm. After quickly falling in love with Ivarstead, he decided to set up his camp on a hill to the southeast, overlooking Lake Geir.

Nisil's intended stop for the day easily extended to several as he embraced the area as his own.

His life was simple, yet peaceful. Nisil gladly spent his time cutting wood for Temba the lumberjack, fishing for salmon along the banks of Lake Geir, and sun bathing with Escanor after meals.

He found these days to be some of the most pleasant of his life thus far, and after Escanor's hard life in the snowy mountains, Nisil planned on her living out the rest of it in leisure in the sun with him.

Nisil was no fisherman, nor was he a lumberjack, however, and thus he was quickly drawn to the woods surrounding his camp. He rediscovered the wild forms of many of the preserved ingredients he was already familiar with from Rolff's ill-managed storeroom.

This call to the wild quickly developed into a burning desire to practice his craft, and in short order, he was grinding roots and distilling flowers. Nisil quickly realized his experiments needed more room and equipment than a few boulders, a fire pit, and a chopping block would allow, but his gratitude for the southern lifestyle abounded and he was content.

Two weeks after his first arrival to the Rift, Nisil prepared to travel to his original destination: Riften. Running low on glassware and a few ingredients as a result of successful mixtures and clumsiness in the outdoor lab, Nisil gathered up the few potions of which he was proud. He placed rations in his pack, kissed Escanor goodbye, and headed to the city: leaving Escanor as queen of the camp in his stead.

* * *

Nisil begrudgingly reached into his coin purse and counted out Septims. Handing the purple clad guard ten coins, he somberly stashed the leather bag in his belt once more. The ten Septims he relinquished was half of what he had earned from Temba, and it did him great pain to part from it.

"Yer' welcome, elf," the other Nord guard said, opening the heavy wooden door into the city.

Nisil quickly passed them and entered Riften for the first time. He could not help but feel the moment was soured by the unexpected 'traveler's tax' he had encountered at the gate.

After weeks of living in the open expanses of Skyrim, he immediately recognized the oppressive nature of entering a city once more.

"Can't say it's good to be back to this," he muttered as he began to pick his way through the crowd.

"What?" A hoarse voice behind him called.

Taken aback, Nisil quickly turned to face a grizzled Nord. The man immediately wrenched him up by the front of his cloak and dug his steel gauntlets into Nisil's chest.

The man's lank black hair hung inches from Nisil's face as he grasped at the man's forearm in panic. Shoved back once more by the brute, Nisil struck a wooden beam and was pinned against it.

Feebly, Nisil struggled as the man growled, "I don't know who you are, elf," and paused, "but I already have my eye on you."

"I… wai…" Nisil gasped.

"You… Ya…" the man mocked viciously, "You'll stay the _fuck_ clear of the Black-Briars if you know what's good for ya. And far out of any trouble, got it?"

Tears streamed down Nisil's face: now turning molten once more from terror, confusion, and embarrassment.

A throng gathered and watched.

The attack dog shoved Nisil against the beam with his elbow, eliciting a response from his victim.

Nisil nodded sourly.

"Good."

He pulled Nisil forward and then shoved him back onto the cobble.

"Watch yourself… mirk," he sneered. The man then turned and the crowd quickly parted in his path.

Nisil snarled at that word, disgusted. He gazed at the man's back and grasped his satchel: wishing he had something special for the big target swaggering away.

The sun was blocked momentarily and shade drew over Nisil's form. He looked up to see a figure towering over him.

The figure, a blonde Nord woman, knelt beside him and spoke, "Friend," she began. Her accent was thick and voice powerful, yet she grasped his shoulder more gently than he had expected.

"I see you've met Maul, Maven's little attack pup. Are you alright, daeljuhn?"

Nisil was surprised once more at her command of his native tongue, and accepted the helping hand up.

He nodded, "Thank you."

As she spoke, he brushed himself off and hung his head. The woman introduced herself as she led him to the side of the street, which had now resumed its bustle. Mjoll the Lioness eased him onto a bench to sit for a moment.

The conversation flowed slowly at first, but her comforting presence quickly eased his racing heart and wounded pride. Soon, she vividly depicted her travels into Morrowind with her father, and Nisil spoke of his homeland and time in Windhelm. He took care to omit some of the more scandalous bits.

At length, she stood and imparted some final wisdom.

"Riften is a good place at heart, but a corrupted one nonetheless. Do be mindful, but don't walk with fear, my dear. Please seek me or Aerin out if you encounter any more trouble."

Nisil expressed his gratitude, and she squeezed his arm in parting. He watched her walk through the crowd. As the lioness walked in their midst, most of the common folk flocked past her to offer greetings or a pleasant smile.

The irony of meeting two very different Nords in such short order was not lost on him, as he watched the crowd mill about.

* * *

The musty aroma of the apothecary was a welcome relief to Nisil's nostrils which were currently being unplugged from the putrid smell of algae and sewage outside.

As his eyes adjusted and he looked around the shop, his mouth dropped and eyes widened.

A wonderfully diverse spread of hangings and cuttings dangled from the rafters: forming herb chandeliers. Insects crawled on the inside of jars and rattled wicker cages. Burners simmered swirling elixirs in retort and pear-shaped flasks on the workbench.

Nisil was amazed at the promise a shop like this held compared to Rolff's Remedies: a haphazard abomination of an apothecary, run by a washed-up ale brewer.

"May I help you, sera?" A sweet voice rang through the dimly lit room.

Nisil's attention snapped to the workbench. A young woman's face was framed by the lattice of glassware and stands. Evidently, each had been so invested in admiring ingredients and brewing potions they had hardly noticed the other's presence.

"Pardon me," Nisil blurted as he grew ill at ease whilst she rose: revealing a shapely form wrapped in a fine lab coat. Without her face distorted through the glass, he could see how beautiful she was.

Her long brown hair was drawn back into a bun, yet a single thin braid hung down and framed her symmetrical face. He saw her skin was as white and fair as snowberries and lips as red as fire salts. An ice wraith's teeth would pale in comparison to the blue in her eyes.

"Uhm…" Nisil started, as words caught in his throat.

She smiled warmly and jotted down a quick note in her ledger whilst glancing up at him. "If you're here for Maester Elgrim, he and his wife are out at the moment, my apologies." Pausing, she continued optimistically, "I may be able to help you with some of our offerings, however."

Nisil froze, at a loss for words as he grew increasingly nervous.

'Ask her about her flowers, Nisil,' a familiar, fatherly voice echoed from the past.

After a moment of contemplation, which felt like ages to him, Nisil smiled and his resolve was bolstered.

As he glanced over the multitude of familiar ingredients, he forced himself to speak in measured tones. "No need to apologize, my lady. I'm a newcomer to the Rift, and… I can't say I know half of what I'm looking at… Might you be willing to tell me more?"

Blue lightening flashed across the woman's eyes, and she gleamed. "Of course, sera" she started, as she too looked about the shop in shared wonder.

* * *

Author's Note: Snowberries in-game are red (some real-life snowberries are), but I implore you to look them up online. The ones I found (and savored) whilst hiking in New Zealand were a beautiful white! Thanks so much for the support, guys! See you all next Friday!


	5. Homework

A soft summer breeze rustled leaves as it drifted through the wood. The faint scent of lavender mixed with the fresh lakeside air and joined the aromatic medley. Nisil reveled in this freshness as he gingerly knelt beside another Yellow Mountain Flower and began to snip free only a few buds, so as not to hinder the still growing bush too greatly.

As he leisurely strolled through the wood, his mind once more drifted to the woman he had met nearly two weeks prior. A smile spread wide upon Nisil's face as he reminisced upon their rich conversation and their shared interest in the alchemical arts. In fact, he was so caught up in ending on a high note that he had forgotten to introduce himself. Even worse, he had not even learned her name.

As he scraped a few samples free of Scaly Pholiota, an unfamiliar sight caught his eye. Squinting, he crept forward softly amongst the birch trees.

Imperial soldiers milled between leather tents: occupied with the daily tasks of a military camp. Nisil stood, stowed his clippers in his satchel, and strolled forth into a clearing before the barricade. He could see there were several smaller individual tents, one larger headquarters tent, a forge, and a longer tent for their mess hall.

From behind the barricade, a young man in the traditional imperial cuirass with gladius at his side, bid him halt before asking his business in the wood.

"I've been gathering ingredients… I'm just an alchemist," Nisil replied, apprehension rising within his chest.

"Just?" The young man asked. Concern was evident on his tanned face: out of place in the colder north.

Nisil nodded, hoping his non-threatening demeanor was obvious, despite the large distance between them. The soldier had a crossbow bolt pouch at his belt as well, Nisil saw, with the crossbow itself resting against the wooden chair beside the barricade.

There was a long, delayed pause as they scrutinized each other.

Nisil grew more uncomfortable.

"Do you have any salves?" The young man asked bluntly.

Nisil was taken aback, initially unsure of how to respond.

Movement from within the camp caught Nisil's eye, and as he examined the men he noted the prevalence of limps, bandages, and slings amongst them.

"No, I'm sorry…" Nisil felt helpless, and as his eyes led him into the tents where he saw numerous bedridden wounded.

He could not help but step forth, nearer the barricade, as he peered in further. The soldier did not stop him as he rested his hands upon it and gazed on in silence.

He could hear coughing and slight moaning carried on the wind.

He looked into their forlorn, pitiful faces that sought any salvation.

"…I'm so sorry."

* * *

"And how many of these have ya got lad?" the old alchemist asked.

"Four, sir."

The man nodded, examining the viscosity of his creations under a lens. Nisil fought the urge to look around the shop again for the woman he had met weeks ago.

The old man nodded, pursing his lips. Nisil suppressed a smile and hoped it was a pleased nod.

"Well, young man," Elgrim spoke at length, "I would like a demonstration."

"Absolutely, sir," Nisil said quickly, and downed the unstopped vial without hesitation.

"Tenacity, my boy, I appreciate it!" Elgrim laughed and clapped his wrinkled, arthritic hands together.

Nisil shouldered his pack and opened the door for him.

The two alchemists walked onto the walkway beside the Riften Canal. Dryside and the market bustled above them as small fishing vessels occupied Dockside to their rear.

While Nisil hastily loaded his pack with loose cobbles scattered about, the rumbling din of the city above seemed distant. Barely able to heft his pack to his shoulders, he nevertheless found it incredibly easy to walk whilst wearing it.

He smiled to match the old man's grin.

Although he hated the idea of gloating, Nisil balanced on one leg and hopped around to put the potion's effectiveness on full display.

Elgrim immediately voiced his approval as Nisil unloaded his pack with glee before following the old Maester back inside.

"Well, my boy… a Stalwart Steed potion is not difficult to produce, by any means," Elgrim cleared his throat and paused. "Just Scaly Pholiota and River Betty cured, ground, and distilled."

Nisil's smile faded immediately as his stomach turned to knots.

"But one of high quality is difficult," Elgrim finished, "Who taught you?"

His heart leapt and fell once more. Surely this conversation would kill him, he thought.

"I lived in Windhelm for many years… and worked for Maester Rolff…" Nisil was immediately caught off guard by the raucous laughter that emanated from Elgrim's frail form.

Bellowing, Elgrim gave Nisil pause for several tense moments.

"Son… Son…" Elgrim's words were fraught with wheezing and giggling.

"I know you aren't telling me the truth. That…" He was beset with another fit of laughter. "That pitiful excuse for an alchemist should cut his losses and go make Skooma."

Nisil grinned broadly.

Elgrim's laughter subsided and he wrestled control of the conversation once more. "You taught yourself, lad. That you did."

Nisil hung his head, smiling. "You put up with that roaring drunk, and let me guess, you would do your chores and preparations respectfully. Over time, you started experimenting and reading late at night, when he was out drinking, or passed out. You taught yourself lad, don' you be too humble to realize it."

Nisil thanked him for his kind words.

"But don' ye let it go to yer head!" Elgrim slapped the counter for emphasis.

"You've got a talent you've worked hard fer, that's true, but you haven't had much but a failed brewer to teach you. You need discipline; you need a good Maester to show you the way."

Nisil held his breath. Had he impressed Elgrim enough to become his apprentice? That certainly was not his goal walking in, but he would happily accept. He was nearly overcome with joy at the proposition.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind was it dashed.

"It won't be me, lad. I already have an apprentice that makes my life difficult enough," Elgrim began muttering to himself, "Wastin' all my ingredients and going off with her own experiments."

Nisil's heart sank, any hopes for formal training dashed.

"Don't take it personal lad, Ingun was here first and Black-Briars always have a way of getting what they want."

A chill went down Nisil's spine as he put the pieces together.

"Nevermind, boy, let's get you yer gold."

Nisil nodded as Elgrim went through his coin purse and ledger. After receiving his payment, Nisil thanked him for his time and turned to depart. Before he stepped out to the canal, Elgrim bid him stop.

"Tell ya what, lad," Elgrim began, hobbling over to his bookshelf. "Take this and read it through, you'll like the history and some of the recipes of old."

Elgrim handed it to him, "bring something from this next time and feel free to experiment, even if it fails."

Nisil made to ask for direction, but Elgrim cut him short.

"Whatever strikes your fancy, boy."


	6. Honeyed Words

Nisil stepped outside his small shack to soak in the view of Lake Geir. A fresh breeze rustled the leaves above as gentle shafts of light danced through the intertwined branches.

Construction of Nisil's alchemist shack had gone quickly, with Temba's crew happy to spend a few hours of their day off erecting it for him.

The folk of Ivarstead had taken kindly to Nisil, as they had gotten to know the dark elf during his many visits to the town.

During these visits, Nisil had decided to show Jofthor one of his mother's old methods of composting and Temba how to render better fat for the gears of her sawmill.

The dark elf knew these highly visible good deeds had certainly not hurt his case either. Furthermore, he came to realize one night after walking home, that these acts gave him a warm feeling. It was a pleasant satisfaction: not borne of trickery or deceit. He insisted to himself that helping these fine folk was not simply a task of self-preservation, and Nisil found it as refreshing as the Rift air that invigorated him so.

Ivarstead was situated along one of the more isolated roads in Skyrim, and it was little stretch for the townsfolk to realize the importance of having a friendly alchemist residing nearby: 'even if he is a dark elf,' many of the less-tolerant Nords might say.

Over the past few weeks, Nisil had come to realize he truly cared for these simple Nords, and he did get the impression the feeling was mutual.

The alchemist contemplated this as he gathered his tools and resumed work on the wicker fence.

He deftly wove the reeds and branches, hoping his little palisade would fare well against the rabbits and deer attempting to forage on his freshly planted garden.

He smirked as he realized how proud his mother would be of his delicate garden and his sister of how he 'tastefully acquired' cuttings from the Riften cemetery and a nearby manor a few days prior. During the same visit, Nisil could not help but feel a tinge of pride as he strolled into Elgrim's Elixirs, book and experimental potion in hand.

Nisil had read the entirety of _De Rerum Dirennis_ within the course of a night. He was so consumed by the reading that when he ran out of candlelight early into the morning, he had made numerous trips for firewood to keep his campfire lit.

Nisil smirked as he recounted Elgrim's bellowing laughter at the tale and remembered their conversation fondly. They discussed that book for the better part of an hour: so long and fervently that Nisil had not noticed Ingun walk in and start her daily tasks.

As Elgrim had examined the contents of his potion, Nisil felt as if he were drawn to speak to Ingun, to say something, anything. 'Was she truly a Black-Briar?' he had thought, crestfallen. He had not yet forgotten Maul's warning, and was not in high enough spirits to tempt another beating just yet.

He had dismissed his concern and approached her in good spirits.

* * *

"Good morning, Ingun…"

Nisil paused, expecting her to look up from organizing the shelves.

His confidence quickly dwindled.

"My name is Nisil; I believe we met last week."

Her cold gaze rotated and shifted potions to their appropriate locations.

He cleared his throat as his mind screamed for him to cut his losses and walk away with some dignity.

"I just wanted to say thank you for…"

"For all my advice on what you already know?" She snapped, punctuating her words with a sinister, sweet tone.

Immediately on his heels, Nisil stammered and attempted to regain control.

"Well, _sera_?" She inquired and allowed her icy blue gaze to freeze him to his core.

Nisil's face went hot and he immediately countered, "I'm sorry, I thought…"

"Oh," she cocked her head.

"My apologies," she hissed.

Elgrim's voice called for Nisil from the front of the shop. "_Your_ Maester is looking for his new apprentice."

Nisil had no idea what to say as she finished her short tirade.

"Looks like he already found him," she finished with her back to him.

Nisil could not help but hear her resigned, defeated tone of finality.

As he departed with his head hung low, he caught sight of a few empty, labelled shelves.

Elgrim's earlier comment of wasted ingredients flashed to his memory, and his walk to the front of the shop was occupied with pieces of the mental puzzle falling into place.

"There you are, my boy," Elgrim said, "marvelous technique with this potion, but I'm sure you are quite aware it is entirely ineffective."

"Yes, sir," Nisil said, his mind elsewhere for the first time since stepping into the shop.

"Do you know where chokeweed grows?"

Nisil shook his head, 'Did she think I was testing her?'

"In the lakes, my boy, yet the most common way we bring disease resistance into our potions now is?"

Nisil gasped and snapped his fingers as the last puzzle piece fell into place.

'She thought I was testing her to replace her as his apprentice!'

"Mudcrab Chitin, exactly!" Elgrim clapped and clasped Nisil's shoulder. "You are a quick study! You see, the Mudcrabs eat the chokeweed and concentrate it in their…"

Nisil let Elgrim's words fall on deaf ears as he watched Ingun pass by quickly. She forcibly avoided his gaze whilst restocking cleaned glassware using a dangerous amount of force.

"…Wound care is…"

Nisil's attention snapped back once more.

"Excuse me, sir," he paused and quickly thought up a better interruption than 'your apprentice is a fox and I'm trying to win her over, so please repeat everything you just said.'

"Maester Elgrim, what is a better medium for wound care, an ointment or a potion?"

This gave the old man pause for several moments of contemplation.

During this time, Ingun shot a quick steely glance his way. Nevertheless, Nisil persisted and beckoned hastily for her to come over and join the lesson. She scowled and turned quickly: her auburn hair lofting over her shoulder.

"My lad!" Elgrim shouted at length, "your next assignment!"

He hobbled over to a dresser and flung open the doors. Scattered papers and rolls of parchment spilt forth, and Elgrim eventually located a small stack of aged notes with Hafjorg's help. Thrusting the pile to Nisil, the elf had to mask his disgust.

'Why are all these pages stuck together?'

"Do find out for me, lad, what makes a better medium! Mudcrab Chitin and Skeever Hide distilled, or with…" The old man peeled the pages apart, ripping some in the process. A yellow tar pulled into strands between the pages.

"Honey?"

* * *

Escanor's ears perked in the lakeside wind. Perched high above the surrounding wood, she held dominion of the camp, the hill, and all of the southern wood south of Ivarstead.

The queen gracefully chewed some hay her servant had brought her and peered down with her aged eyes at whatever unwelcome commotion had disturbed her quiet kingdom.

Nisil, only a dark speck in the distance, flailed as he plowed through the bushes of the forest below the cliffs.

His screams were naught but a high pitched whine to Escanor from her cliffside throne.

She watched lazily as he shed his clothes in haste, casting all dignity and anything that might slow him to the wind.

Escanor paused, several tufts of hay hanging from her mouth. She then resumed her chewing.

Nisil sprinted forth onto a stony spur and flung himself into the muddy depths of Lake Geir: swatting midflight at the scores of angry bees that pursued him.

* * *

The next day, Nisil held up the two bottles beside each other in the midday sun. One swirled in a shimmering glow and scattered the light that hit its liquid contents. The other flowed tranquilly and seemed to soak the light into an amber glow.

He had found it easy enough to grind, purify, and distill the limited ingredients Elgrim had provided for this project: Charred Skeever Hide and Mudcrab Chitin. The real difficulty was discovering how to cut the powders into the honey without boiling it all into uselessness.

Nisil was quite proud it only took him a few hours to discover a solution by rendering both into a thick paste additive before simmering the potion itself to liquefy it.

His thoughts of praise from Maester Elgrim were cut short by his thoughts of Ingun. He had not made things up to her yet and the last thing he wanted was to hurt her feelings any further.

Nisil shook the dark cloud from his mind and continued on his trek.

He wound through the wood and found his pace quickened the closer he drew to his destination.

He wove amongst the small crowd who eyed him with uncertainty.

Nisil's aching welts seemed to ease as he found solace in the task before him.

Maester Elgrim's homework would have to wait.

Nisil knelt and introduced himself softly to a boy among men with a rank bandage on his foot. Masking his pity with a smile, he bid the soldier relax and refrain from rising to greet him in turn.

With the eyes of the camp upon him, Nisil unwrapped the bandage gingerly and laid his eyes upon the infected wound. All thoughts of Elgrim's future kind words and Nisil's own upcoming greatness were pushed from his mind.

As his father had once told him, the greatest satisfaction in life comes not from your accomplishments, but from your contribution.

The alchemist prepared a new dressing with his golden homework and knew one thing: this boy would appreciate it more than he or his Maester ever could.


	7. The Pit

Nisil shook his hand vigorously as he cursed and flung yet another palm-sized mudcrab into the shallows of Lake Geir.

The morning was overcast: reflective of his struggles acquiring Elgrim's spent ingredients. With his pants rolled up mid-calf, Nisil waded across smooth stones slick with algae. He tread carefully, intent on not ending up fully submerged himself.

He had been uncovering tiny mudcrabs for the better part of an hour, as he tried desperately to find molts of their shells.

As delicious as they were, and necessary for his homework, he did not particularly like the thought of killing scores of the helpless creatures for a few potions.

Escanor stood fat and happy on the dry bank and chewed lazily as she watched Nisil perch atop yet another boulder.

He crouched haphazardly on its slimy gray surface and reached his thin arm underneath, feeling around blindly for another tiny crab emitting the steady stream of bubbles.

The bubbles gradually stopped.

Nisil paused.

Slowly, the entire boulder rose from the water, clicking in anger, and bared its claws.

Helplessly perched atop its enormous shell, Nisil let loose a resigned sigh as Escanor continued to chew her cud.

* * *

The setting sun behind the Throat of the world cast orange and pink streaks over Lake Geir.

Nisil pulled free another fistful of white mudcrab meat from the gourd-sized claw and dipped it in the small pot of butter currently melting beside the fire. He leaned back and admired the view in his wooden chair: his newly-gifted imperial crossbow at his side.

From his overlook, he smiled at the twinkling torchlights of Ivarstead and fondly remembered the look on their faces when he wheeled his wheelbarrow into town with a massive mudcrab slumped upon it.

They had always enjoyed the spectacle of Nisil dragging his wooden cart into the town with an unburdened donkey lazily trotting beside him for company, but this had surpassed their amusement by far.

He savored another mouthful of the tender meat, and was pleased the kind Nords were all sitting down to such a delicious dinner as he. Despite his distance, he had never before felt so welcome.

* * *

The Blue Dartwing Powder swirled down his copper funnel into the vial and plunged into the essence of Namira's Rot. A smile lit upon Nisil's face as the concoction took hold and became one homogenous mixture.

The past several days following his mudcrab discovery were spent in in a similar manner. Very much in his element, Nisil cherished the tranquil moments his hut afforded him for potion making.

Klimmek had been kind enough to gather all the chitin for Nisil, which left him with a stockpile for many potions to come.

The only issue, he had come to realize, was striking back north to the crags overlooking the Eastmarch volcanic tundra for Skeevers.

He was hesitant to pursue this last missing ingredient, however.

Rather than as a result of his laziness, Nisil's mind was preoccupied with the cuttings in his garden. He loathed the idea of leaving them unattended just yet, lest something happen to further delay his cunning plan.

Thus, Nisil stoppered his newest successful potion and carefully stored it in his tattered apothecary's satchel for easy access. Should Nisil happen across another dangerous beast, he knew this would give him at least a chance to make a hasty retreat.

He had also spent the time discovering what when wrong with his beehive debacle. His father had shown him how to slowly burn an Ash Yam so the smoke would make the bees tranquil. After some time pondering his welts, he initially thought the local gourds did not produce the same effect. After analyzing one of the dead bees, however, he found the Nordic bee is much hardier than the Morrowind varieties: hence the bee's usefulness in potions for altering one's stamina.

He quickly surmised these breakthroughs would not have been possible without the clarity he received from working in the heart of nature.

After hollowing a gourd and stuffing it with birch bark and shaved Canis Root, he had much more success and now held a jar filled with honey and honeycomb. He had saved any bees he found on himself, but refrained from harvesting too many bees without an immediate use for them.

After this success, he distilled down extra birch bark and mixed them with boiled pig bones from the farm to turn it into a highly flammable, viscous substance.

These several days had been quite productive, he mused, but a feeling of dread had gripped his heart nevertheless. He had yet to return to Elgrim's with his potion, and knew better than to keep him waiting.

He had been more concerned with returning to Riften empty-handed in another regard. While his Nightshade and Deathbell cuttings were flourishing, he was entirely unable to keep any Nirnroot cuttings alive.

Fortunately, whilst inquiring about any local work, Wilhelm told Nisil of a farm on the northern shore of the lake. On this farm, by some stroke of Divine luck, there were 'rows and rows' of the plant.

* * *

Initially, Nisil was disappointed and concerned the well-intentioned barkeep had mistaken precious Nirnroot for just another vegetable. As he had drawn nearer, the soft ringing that greeted his ears caused his spirits to rise quickly.

Sarethi Farm was a small one, mostly dedicated to vegetables and grain. Thankfully Avrusa was an alchemist at heart and continued to cultivate the plant for distribution to apothecaries throughout the holds.

Furthermore, she was truly stretched thin or at least took pity on the fledgling alchemist and fellow dark elf.

Not long after establishing a rapport over their shared interests and heritage, Nisil was toiling with her by hauling boulders, repairing fences, and fetching water. The work was long and difficult, but labor at the price of knowledge was as cheap as it gets in Avrusa's eyes.

At the end of a long day, after a dinner of bread and potato-gourd soup, the two walked the rows of glowing, ringing plants.

Nisil's interest remained high, but his heart sunk low as she explained the intricate and tedious process of growing the plants.

'No wonder they haven't survived with me,' Nisil thought, as he remarked on the difficulty of her work.

As they drew near her home and the sun began its descent, she smiled knowingly.

"Disheartening, no?"

Nisil feigned confusion.

"I'm sure you did not sweat all day for a quick tour. Nirnroot is a difficult plant to cultivate, if not the most difficult. So the answer to your question is to simply harvest it wherever you find it and use it quickly or dry it."

Nisil nodded, frowning.

"Fear not, you helped me a great deal. We accomplished more today than I would in a week with my…" She sighed, kneading her brow, "beloved sister."

Nisil smirked sheepishly, and Avrusa continued, "I'll send you with some samples for your next experiment. Whenever you'd like more, come to me and I may be able to help. I'd certainly love to have your aid again in the future."

The alchemist was taken aback and nodded wholeheartedly as he thanked her profusely.

They continued to idly chat as darkness descended on the Rift, before Nisil began his trek home. He beamed in the dark and resolved to quit putting off his homework.

* * *

Nisil had spent the better part of the next day in the sun, poring over the boulders and cliffsides north of the Rift for Skeevers. He certainly could not complain, he reminded himself as he peered down onto the Eastmarch swamp below; times could be much worse.

At long last, Nisil spied a dark crevice with several skeever tracks leading into it, but not out.

Leading with his torch, he lowered himself into the narrow rift. Descending, it flattened to a muddy embankment and opened to a shallow cavern.

Nisil slipped on the wet earth and brushed off his hard landing before inching his way into the cavern: torch and crossbow awkwardly held in each hand. Scanning the room, it was empty.

Crestfallen, Nisil prepared to retrace his steps as his eyes lit upon a pit at the far end of the cavern. As wide as a wagon, it plunged nearly vertically. Its banks were slick with mud with large boulders and scree coated in black algae.

It descended into the blackness of the mountain beyond the light of his torch. Without a thought, he cast it down. It sent sparks tumbling as it bounced and rolled to the bottom of a pit.

For a moment, it flickered before coming back to life. Dark shadows scampered on the fringes before they were illuminated.

Three skeevers surrounded the corpse of an elk calf as they hissed and withdrew from the radiance of the torchlight.

Disgusted, Nisil immediately winced from the grisly sight. He took pause, however, and crouched at the edge. He peered down at the pitiful beasts as they snapped at one another and attempted to crawl up towards him.

Their vicious, scarred faces and black, soulless eyes bored into him.

He stared into the unnatural and was revolted by it.

Gritting his teeth, he raised his crossbow and fired.

The bolt streaked down and plunged mid-shaft into the first skeever's neck. It fell sideways atop the elk calf with its legs twitching pitifully.

Nisil was impressed with his shot. He wished the old imperial soldier who had given him the hasty lesson could see him now as he loaded another bolt.

It clattered off a stone and kicked up dust as Nisil muttered under his breath. The skeevers hissed and climbed before tumbling back down.

Nisil missed again and cursed his misfortune. He was now happy the veteran was not watching, he thought, and shifted his feet.

His eyes widened as he realized his mistake.

The ground shifted and gave way beneath him.

Immediately, Nisil dove back but not before the loose rockwork crumbled beneath him to suck him down into the blackness of the pit.


	8. The Fall

Nisil woke.

His ears rang as he watched dust slowly settle around him.

Raising his head with a wince, he slowly sat up. As his vision blurred, he quickly laid his head back down with a thud and glanced around the pit, forlorn.

His eyes lit upon his crossbow, only a few feet away. It was tantalizingly close as he stretched but came up short.

Now painfully clear to the dark elf, he realized he needed to crawl.

As he twisted his body and began to shift, a high-pitched growling emanated from the blackness.

Nisil shot up and threw his hands forth, instinctively.

Flames burst forth his outstretched hands and lit the darkness before him, immolating one of the skeevers mid-leap.

Its writhing form collided with him, aflame.

As it kicked and snapped in agony, he rolled and shoved it off of him. He withdrew and watched in disgust as it continued to writhe and shriek.

To Nisil's surpise, he was knocked back hard into the rubble once more, as the second skeever pounced.

Viciously, it snapped and tore at his thin robes to sink putrid teeth deep into his elven flesh.

Nisil howled and thrashed his forearms to fend off the onslaught whilst he scrambled for his belt.

Cursing and frantically grasping for his dagger, he eventually drew the blade and immediately plunged it into the creature's side. He withdrew, and plunged it home once more.

He repeatedly stabbed the flailing creature as it grew weaker. He rolled to the side and transposed his foot on its bleeding form. He shoved with his might, sending it down the rubble. As it wobbled to its feet with a whimper, it turned and scampered deeper into the pit; staggering as it went.

Its breaths grew ragged; it lurched and slid along the wall toward a narrow corridor until at last, it expired. As it lay there, its ragged paws twitched and contorted in spasms.

Silence fell on the cavern, and the flames of the burning Skeever flickered down low. Nisil collapsed on the scree to gaze up the dimness enveloping him.

The scent of stagnant air and burned fur sickened him.

Minutes passed, while his panting subsided and initial terror gave way to pain.

His shoulder throbbed as he touched it, and blood oozed from under his hand.

Fear gripped him once more at the prospect of attempting to climb out, lest he discover it truly was what he feared: impossible.

In his mind, a familiar voice echoed, 'You must learn to get up, Nisil.'

For a brief moment, he was a boy once more, curled up on the cold cobble stones of Windhelm. His nose bled, and stomach ached. He hesitated to draw deep breath. The wicked laughter of cruel Nord boys grew distant.

He remembered how small he had felt, until his father had picked him up and brushed him off.

Tears welled in in the darkness. He was sore and cold and miserable and terrified.

And he had just bailed himself out of this terrible situation with something of which he was so ashamed: magic.

Nearly all dark elves could cast some weak flame-based magic, but it was taboo in Nisil's household. When Nisil and his sister had first discovered their talent, they were craven to try it. Upon discovering this, their parents had insisted it not be used and likened it to their emotions.

'The more you rely upon it and practice it, the more you will lean on it to solve your problems, same with anger and hurting others. Soon, you could find yourselves no better than the rogues and bandits on the streets, using violence and this magic for your own ambition.'

Nisil hung his head in his hands and wept in the earthen crypt.

Moments passed in this manner before a whisper emanated from the depths, 'one day I may not be there to pick you up.'

A jolt of emotional lightening spurred him to action.

Nisil immediately began to fumble through his rucksack and bandaged his shoulder rapidly.

He even took a moment to recognize the irony of his situation: all his ingredients he knew to use for treating a dirty wound were miles away and aboveground.

Nisil threw himself into the effort of climbing. Again and again he attempted.

All resulted in failure as the rockwork continued to crumble. The smooth water-worn rockwork that comprised the walls offered even fewer handholds than the crumbling scree.

At legth, Nisil sat and gazed absently into the crawlspace before him.

As his only way out, he shuddered to think of the dark denizens within.

Nisil nearly wept tears of joy as he continued forth on his hands and knees into a smaller chamber. He straightened, grateful that his tunnel crawling was over.

Before he could celebrate, however his nostrils were assailed by the stench of rotted food and waste.

Rats and other creeping things shunted from his torchlight as he examined the dump around him. Broken cauldrons, boxes of rotted produce, rotted corpses of animals all were heaped within.

While he was grateful to have an exit, he hastily picked his way across the room and begged the Divines to not allow him to slip.

Nisil was crestfallen to see torches within the cavern beyond.

Another familiar voice, a girl's, rang through the dark. 'What? Are you afraid of the dark, Neesee?'

Shaking his head, he peered around the edge of the rock.

Nisil held his breath and ducked his head back into the confines of the tunnel: disgusted and terrified.

Peering around once more, he grimaced and examined the grisly spectacle.

Speared upon mammoth tusks and stakes, as if perched in some macabre display, an elk head faced directly towards him.

Maggots writhed within its eyes and fell down past a necklace adorned of feathers and bird's feet.

His focus shifted beyond the macabre display and to the column beside it. Two tents stood on the far side of the cavern, constructed of tree limbs and matted furs. Beneath, a hunched woman worked at a table with her back to him.

Seizing his fleeting opportunity, he deftly crept beyond the column and slipped into tunnel leading further into the system.

Nimila would be proud, he thought through bated breath.

Nisil pitied the creature as he looked down upon it from the shadows. The troll stood listlessly, chained and collared, seemingly on the verge of collapse.

As Nisil estimated the length of the chain, he pondered the size of the small chamber. There was a skylight to the surface which held the remains of an enormous mammoth skull. Twilight rays drifted down into the chamber, and occasionally Nisil could taste the fresh air: a welcome change from this dank interior.

He felt he could scramble up the slope and perhaps leap to the tusks to pull himself to freedom, but not without awakening the beast, and likely calling whatever else lurked within this abode to his location.

Not wanting to take any risks, he retrieved one of the potions from his satchel and watched it swirl as he drizzled it onto his loaded bolt. His favorite potion held the consistency of honey with age, and he knew it to be an especially potent batch.

Taking careful aim, the bolt plunged into the small of the troll's back. With a short, lazy roar it turned and its eyes lit upon Nisil.

While he had confidence in his abilities, he quickly began to doubt them as the hulking creature took its first steps towards him.

Thankfully, he tumbled forth as it took effect before toppling with a crash to the fern-covered cavern floor, sound asleep.

Nisil knew it would be short lived and took off immediately for the slope. He scrambled up the slimy boulders, thick with algae and mushrooms. With a deep breath to steel his resolve, he leapt, arms outstretched for the lowest tusk.

He swung low and nearly lost his grip. As tightly as he could, he bear hugged it.

He looked down at the troll beneath him as he pumped his legs furiously, feverishly trying to muscle himself atop the tusk.

To his dismay, he saw a torchlight flickering in the tunnel from which he came.

Safety was tantalizingly close. He pleaded for the divines to give him the strength, yet his praywer were unanswered.

The skull shook precariously as he continued to struggle.

No time to spare, he dropped his rucksack and crossbow and swung himself on the tusk.

As he did, the hunched woman stormed into the room, arcane energy emanating from her torch less hand.

The alchemist froze as she stepped into the room, scanning it and spinning wildly about. Her lank hair was disheveled and black robes tarnished. Yellowed nails attached to long and fallow fingers, white as candles.

She stood over the troll, disgusted, and spat upon the beast, decrying his feebleness at being felled with a single bolt.

Nisil trembled in exhaustion as she turned to his things, nudging them with her foot.

He shifted his grip to avoid slipping, and a thin trail of dirt toppled down from the skull onto her balding head.

Rapidly, she gazed skyward, locking eyes with her quarry.

"Aha!" she cackled as her pale eyes lit with malice.

Her hand glowed with arcane energy as a long shard of ice crystallized.


End file.
